Jars of Clay

I’m leaving my bags packed
just in case I need to run away
but I won’t tell you that – it’s easier
if you never have to know
about impermanent.

The demons sound like prophets 
now, and I’m living out
every word they speak in slow
motion, suitcase handle in my fingers
like a lifeline to freedom.

Do you know what I mean
when I say I don’t want to 
be alone?

I have traveled before
and I am not afraid
of losing myself to it, I’m 
not afraid of drowning in it.
No, it is breathing that
takes all the work; staying
that is so hard for me.

I will tell you a secret.
Sometimes, the airplane seats
feel like home, and I don’t 
want to ever leave them, sometimes
you aren’t worth unpacking my 
bags for and I’m not sorry, sometimes
I think drowning
would be easier.

You’re yelling, yelling 
that my life is not my own
that there is a value on it
and I’m wasting the currency, 
my life is not my own and I must
keep my hands off it.

Do you know what I mean
when I say I don’t want to
be alone?

Except
I don’t say it.

by Ghanaperu